The thunder of war rages around him, voices rallying to the sky, bellowed screams, the heavy bursts of metal on metal, metal into flesh. A hand axe had been driven into the Mightâs side some time before ( how long, he doesnât know; time becomes blurred in the fervor of battle ). The blood that was steadily pouring from his side had stained the leather of his armor, though he waged on as a stalwart tower of a man. There was a dull ache in his body that he only vaguely registered, but it was ultimately irrelevant to the trained warrior that he was. He had spent his entire life training to be a soldier, it was all Garen knew.Â
        Thatâs why when an axe was falling to strike his shoulder, Garen had turned and raised his sword to stop the blow. The force of it still made his heels dig into the blood stained mud beneath him as he fought back against the heavy weight, his teeth grit together while he supported his sword with his other hand. With a great amount of a force, he managed to shove back against its wielderâ none other than the Hand of Noxus himself, Darius. The sight of the man, the head of his opposition, stirred a fire in the Demacianâs blood that made itself known in the deep furrow of his brows and the grimace on his blood stained face.Â
        Garen readied himself once again, this time facing the man with his great sword drawn in his hands, starring at the General as if he were starring down a barrel. He felt no fear as he faced the other soldier; as always, he was ready to fight him.Â